


Firsts

by Izzerslololol



Series: Mereel and the Galaxy [5]
Category: Star Wars: Clone Wars (2003) - All Media Types, Star Wars: Republic Commando Series - Karen Traviss, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Brotherhood, Brothers, Clones, Gen, Ice Cream, Mando'a
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-04
Updated: 2013-03-17
Packaged: 2017-12-04 12:25:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/710757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Izzerslololol/pseuds/Izzerslololol
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were a lot of firsts early on after Geonosis. ARC N-7 didn't talk about them—or think about them, really. But this one... this one he'll be sure to remember.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Anon prompt fill over at the RP tumblr.

 

There were a lot of firsts early on after Geonosis. Mereel didn't talk about them—or think about them, really, because what was there to think about? 

Firsts: free fall base jump to avoid blaster bolts breaking glass behind him. 

Something so straight forward didn't leave much room for examination. So, instead, he loaded his plate with short operations, back-to-back with no breaks, along the inner rim. SOP demanded filing a detailed report, or two, or twenty, and have a sit down, boots up, short snack and cry into caf—Jaing's words—with a JCO. But with what he learned about their mind-altering abilities...

Well. What made him who he was were his things, and his things were his. Not to be distorted or set aside or wiped away but held close to the chest and kept well past the night and into the day.

And he needed to stop referring to the Jedi as JCO—Jedi Commissioned Officers—in his head. Funny as the term was, a slip-up would mean having to have that sit down, and it'd be a real shame to smudge that perfect record he had going.

Firsts: crash a speeder while leaking blood and gastric acid thanks to the SP lodged inside the stomach. That wasn't his best day.

But the _things_ had begun to build up a stone in his gut that got harder and harder to manage over time. He'd looked for ways to lessen it—and then eventually remove it, completely—and the ways came in the form of short answers to long questions: smile when spoken to, laugh in crowds, con criminals and civvies alike, and learn firsthand what stim, drink, shack-up, and gamble means to the underside of too many perfect cities.

Occasionally with one of his brothers, but most often alone.

Bad habits. They spoke to him and sung in his blood in a way that nothing else could—save for the firsts. Firsts: rappel off the side of a Sep droid manufacturing plant in the dead of night and hope the randomized security spot-lamps don't catch on the way down.

The feminine persuasion took to him, and him to them, and before he could really track how movement he'd ended up bedded and so, so, warm—with parts of him stirred to attention and a new, insatiable hunger that motivated his downtime. The kind of thing he hadn't flash-learned about. 

Firsts: women, recognizing his inexperience, but drawn to his charm, sought to teach him the ways. And, oh, did he learn.

"You should come with me," he said to Prudii, straight-laced and no exaggeration. "It's like—"

"Later," his brother interrupted. He didn't seem particularly enthused nor disgusted, just neutral. As if it were something he'd consider doing, if they had the added downtime. Mereel hoped they would. Barely a handful of months into the war, and Prudii already looked drawn, tired.

"Where are we going?"

"You'll see. You'll like it." He smiled in his careful, enigmatic way, and hooked an arm around his shoulders in an affectionate gesture he rarely offered anyone. It must have been a _long_ couple of months. "Maybe not as much as those girls you've been playing with."

Firsts: long stints of separation from his brothers beyond a feasible recall and response time in event of an emergency.

"Well, I do like those girls a whole lot..." Mereel grinned around the ache in his chest he couldn't identify. "But I trust your taste in people, places, and things."

Prudii snorted. "I prefer the classy women of the galaxy, _ner vod._ Senators, state officials, the occasional law enforcement officer..."

" _Oho_ , excuse me." Mereel chuckled as they turned the next corner, herded by the busy lunchtime crowd of the planet. "I didn't realize you had such refined tastes."

Firsts: one on one lunch with Prudii.

"I like to know where my food's been before I put it in my mouth." Prudii sniffed delicately. The arm around Mereel's shoulders bent at the elbow to lay his open palm on the top of Mereel's head. 

"And the dish was _absolutely_ horrendous." Mereel affected a light, airy, nasal tone to his voice and dabbed at his lip with an invisible napkin pinched between two fingers. "Even the decor was just _blasé._ Why anyone would eat here..."

Prudii barked a laugh and affectionately smacked the back of his head as he pushed him past the doors of a specialty shop. Half of the tables were filled with people enjoying what looked to be variations of a small dish Mereel could not identify.

His brother pointed to an empty table by the front windows. "Relax, _vod'ika._ My treat."

As Mereel eased into one of the chairs, Pruddi approached the counter and looked into a plexglass case. He watched as his brother motioned with his hands to the near-human behind the counter, read the positive response, and scooped servings into small bowls lined with what appeared to be a type of pastry.

Mereel loved pastries. All sweets, really. He'd guess that's what they were, if the flavor options were anything to go by.

Firsts: nutmeg and cinnamon flake pastry with a fruit jam on Coruscant the day after the incident at Arca Barracks. That was a good day. Warm, too.

Prudii returned with the two bowls, and placed one in front of Mereel's hands. He handed him the tail end of a spoon, and motioned to the dish with his own.

"Don't touch the bowl. Just dig in and tell me what you think."

He eyed the cream-colored mound, apparently soft and light, contained within the pastry bowl. It parted under the spoon easily enough, and he gathered a heaping amount, careful to catch some of the candied nuts and cinnamon sprinkled over the top. He took the huge bite into his mouth all at once. 

Prudii's eyes widened and lips parted in what looked like a delayed warning, but Mereel couldn't—

Cold.

A sharp pang of sensitivity shot through his front canines. He slapped a hand to his lips as tears stung his eyes and his mouth instantly went from pained to numb. He pushed the bite around with his less and less responsive tongue, dimly aware of his brother choking back laughs—which, for Prudii, might as well have been him tearing on the floor.

Firsts: Prudii laughing at him while eating.

Embarrassment gave way to surprise, and then pleasure. The soft, honey flavored frozen cream melted in his mouth, triggering all positive connotations he held with sweet treats and slid easily down his throat. A chill, from pleasure or from the cold he couldn't be sure, trembled down his spine and pooled in his core.

He blinked his moist eyes open, the spoon still caught between his lips, and he stared at Prudii with awe and adulation.

 _"Kandosii,"_ he said. _"Vor'entye."_

Prudii nodded, but Mereel missed it for taking another bite of the treat. And another. And another. And—

Sharp tension sparked behind his temples and bloomed across his brow, spiking at the spot between his eyes. He squeezed them shut and pinched a hand to his brow, breathing hard with a gasp and a groan.

Firsts: whatever the _haran_ this is.

 _"Manda._ Is it _supposed_ to hurt?"

Prudii barked a laugh and reached across the table to rub either side of his neck with two hands. "Side effect of eating too fast," his brother stuttered between the rolling chuckles. "Rub your tongue against the roof of your mouth and breathe. It'll pass in a moment."

He did as his brother directed, and the intended result followed. Mereel flushed, and blinked around the embarrassed wet of his eyes. His brother dabbed at them with a clean napkin, smiling in a way that made him appear years younger than he looked coming in.

Mereel wanted to keep that expression there but, like all good things, it smoothed away. Still, his lips remained quirked, smile subdued but not erased.

The treat sat quietly on the table, deceptive in its delicious and innocuous way. He eyed it suspiciously, pressing the business end of his spoon through it, and scooped up another, smaller, mouthful to work through.

It chilled him, but hit many of the pleasure receptors on the way, and that was good. Joy bubbled up within and demanded he continue.

He polished off the frozen portion of the treat with care, then broke apart the pastry bowl—which, by then, had been soaked through with the melted remains of the sweet cream. He took small bites, savoring each with closed eyes and absolute focus, to prolong the experience. And yet, despite his best efforts to slow down, it had ended all too quickly. 

“Iced cream,” Prudii supplied as Mereel mourned his empty dish. “Sweetened with Endoran honey and candied nut slices.”

“My favorite.” Mereel sighed. “You spoil me.”

“Don't let it go to your head,” Prudii grinned. His chair squeaked against the floor as he rose from his seat. “Seconds?”

Mereel thought about it.

“Yes. Emphatic yes.”

“That serious, huh.” Prudii waited for Mereel to get to his feet. They both approached the glass case, and Mereel leaned in to peer down at the many flavors.

“ _Wayii._ ” He hummed, and tapped against the window. “I want to try that ugly green mass in the corner.”

Prudii shrugged. “I think I'll just go with the beebleberries again.”

Seconds: ~~whatever the _haran_ this is.~~ Iced cream with Prudii.

He’ll do more than hold this through the night—he’ll keep it close for the many long days to come.

 


	2. Stones

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: Mereel discovers the wonders and horrors of a civilian nudist beach.

_Pok!_ bounced the broken-off pebble from the side of Mereel’s helmet and ricocheted off the edge of the enclosed abandoned docking bay. He didn’t move from his position—seated on the edge of a slat meant for holding up a speeder to get at the underside for repairs. Jaing plucked another pebble from his pile and handed it to Kom’rk.

“ _Nu’vor’e,”_ Kom’rk hummed. He rested back on his elbows, legs stretched out in front of him, with head hanging back from his shoulders to rest on his _buy’ce_ tucked behind him.

“ _Elek,”_ Jaing shrugged, and took aim.

“What’s taking so long?” Prudii’s voice synth’d through the datapad-turned-commlink between the two Nulls.

“Kom’rk didn’t want to throw.”

“Throw what? At what?”

“A what at who.”

“What?”

Kom’rk chuckled. “We’re throwing rocks at Mereel.”

“Well, _I’m_ throwing rocks at him, since you refused the last one…” Jaing took aim, and let it fly.

_Pok!_ Mereel hadn’t moved.

“He’s like a stone,” Kom’rk hummed quietly. “Ever since that stint on Alberuba.”

“Isn’t that the—?”

“Yep.”

“With the—?”

“Yep.”

They could hear the gears turning.

“You may continue.”

They weren’t entirely sure what they expected, but when Mereel had donned his helmet and simply sat, unmoving, they assumed the worst—which was that he had recorded everything and was pouring through his record for _sensitive information._

_Manda_ only knew what that meant, but when he failed to interact with the pebbles they tossed at him, they made a game of it. After all, their armor was strong enough to protect them from the shrapnel of stray grenades—what was a stone or two? Or twenty-seven.

Eventually, though, even Jaing tired. So they sat, working through their respective datapads and shared suits’ networks, keeping an eye on their statuesque brother as they did.

Nearly thirty minutes passed before Mereel returned to the land of the living, standing up slowly on two unsteady legs.

“Did you have fun on Alberuba?” Kom’rk prompted.

“No,” Mereel responded. “There are no words to describe Alberuba.”

“I severely doubt that.” Jaing tsked. “Especially coming from _you.”_

Mereel shrugged, his helmet hiding his expression, and for the first time Kom’rk found his brother’s body language unreadable.

“Good, or bad?”

“Everything,” Mereel hummed with a chuckle. _“Everything.”_

**Author's Note:**

>  **Glossary**  
>  _ner vod_ \- my brother  
>  _vod'ika_ \- brother (affectionate); (lit.) little brother  
>  _kandosii_ \- nice, awesome, (lit.) classy  
>  _vor'entye_ \- thank you  
>  _haran_ \- hell  
>  _Manda_ \- Mandalorian concept of heaven  
>  _wayii_ \- expression of surprise, can be for positive or negative situations


End file.
